Through the Raven's Eye
by NathanMoore
Summary: Short stories taken from the life of Sir Raven Writingdesk of Equestria, an author of darker literature who has undefined mental issues and may or may not be a sociopath. This often results in him struggling to find his place as a dark-minded individual within a world of friendship and magic. (Chapters will be added based on my whim, and will likely end up not being chronological.)
1. Culmination

The stallion's coat was a wash of red and black, or rather black that had become drenched in red, the latter of which had come in geysers from the body under his hooves. The stallion watched his own face, eyes staring for his head, the blood of his victim dripped from his chin, seeming to leak out from his mouth, though he had suffered no wound himself. But even when the dead individual's lifeblood had lost all its warmth, it continued still to drip from his neck and mane, and he slowly realized that a pony's body did not contain this much blood. He touched a hoof to his left nostril and it came away soaked in blood. His blood. He could feel it beginning to trickle, and then stream from his nostrils. He gasped, only to choke as his mouth became filled with red and he desperately opened as wide as he could to try and create a pathway for air to reach his lungs. His chest began to fill with blood, and as he drowned, he was aware on some level that even his eyes and ears had begun to seep as his body rebelled against him, wringing every drop of blood from itself, leaving behind a body as empty and hollow as a disinterred grave-

"Mr. Writingdesk!"

Raven snapped into himself with a gasp, his lungs thoroughly convinced that they were never going to breathe again, his flanks and mane drenched. Instinctively, he pawed himself with his hooves, then released a relieved, shaking sigh when he found no blood. But even as the realization of consciousness began to permeate his mind, he still kept his eyes wide open, as though attempting to perceive precisely where the darkness had crawled away to. He sniffed darkly at such a childish notion; his darkness did not hide in closets. It lurked between muscle and sinew, crawled under his skin, trespassed within his very bones, waiting. He shook the sweat from his mane, already feeling in need of a drink.

Wakefulness finally crept into his hooves and brain, finally allowing him to be mildly aware that he had indeed freed himself from his nightmare. He looked around his darkened room, making an effort to take comfort in the meager rays of light as they forced their way around his blinds, creating minute javelins of sun to pierce the dusty blackness in which he had consciously ensconced himself the previous night. He closed his eyes momentarily then drew one more vastly deep, calming breath to exhale the last of the nightmare adrenaline. He looked down at the empty black labeled bottles at his feet. Why did he do this to himself?

"Mr. Writingdesk?" There was a voice accompanied by a knock on his door.

Right. Wake-up call.

"Yes, thank you," he called out absent-mindedly, then collected his thoughts fully and restated with more confidence in his tone: "I'm awake. Thank you, Hop."

"You are quite welcome, sir!" said the boyish, nondescript voice he knew quite well,

though it sounded more pleased than usual for whatever reason. "And may I be the first to say, good morning!" That added sentiment, while not rare, was not a regular occurrence and Raven smiled at the door, feeling as though he should thank the bellhop for his well-wishes. But he decided against it as he had already uttered a thanks previously. Though to call the lad a colt would likely be a disservice within a few more months.

Raven, already standing, stretched his legs individually, then trotted forward and back a few paces to work out the kinks and aches. Despite the fact he often woke up with stiff legs, he preferred maintaining the ancient tradition of sleeping in a standing position. It was odd for any of Equestria's citizens to adhere to the archaic sleep style; beds were virtually a universal commodity these days. However, the quiet, paranoid voices that occasionally chirped in his ear reminded him that if something were to happen, he could much more easily muster a flight or fight response when already standing. He had no idea what that "something" would be, but his extreme precautionary methods were mainly due to little voices in his head, so reason did not exactly have much to do with it.

Feeling quite out of sorts from his nightmare, Raven trotted off for his morning shower, hoping to force the memories from his mind. Out of curiosity, he peeked out of his curtains briefly as he passed, squinting an eye in the bright morning light. The Canterlot Clock read eight hours and two minutes in the a.m. As always, Hop had been right on time.

As was usually the case, the warm water and soap suds banished the final cobwebs of the previous night's depressions and gloom, leaving his mind feeling mightily improved and his midnight-black flanks shimmering in the morning light when he finally opened his curtains to let the outside world in. Feeling whimsical now that the nightmare's particulars had been banished, he even gave himself a mild brushing, pulling apart the knots in his impenetrably dark mane and going so far as to give his quill-and-ink cutie mark a brief buffing. Cutie mark. Going on thirty and he still called it that. Still, life without quirks can hardly be considered life at all.

Finally composed, Raven proceeded to his door and exited from his Canterlot rooms, and was instantly greeted by the glorious, cloud-free blue above, the sounds of hoof-falls and laughter from the streets below, and the cornucopia of mingled smells of morning, from the intoxicatingly subtle scent of freshly baked muffins two lanes down, to the sharp, almost unnoticeable whiff of acrid metal. The latter was a smell he adored for its uniqueness; it was perhaps the sole scent that separated Canterlot from virtually every other city in Equestira. Only the cobblestones of Canterlot, which contained minute traces of flint, could be hit in just such a manner that sparks could be created from one's horseshoes. It had long ago been established that these embers were so small in scale that the fire danger was quite literally non-existent, and it was the easily missed smell of those rare sparks instantaneously popping into and then fading out of existence that he loved. It was so deliciously apropos that he could not help but adore it.

Satisfied that the day had begun right, Raven trotted down the external stairs of his loft apartment with an extra spring in his canter, though he was quick to cease such frivolity when he reached the lobby of the establishment from which he rented his rooms; he was, for no reason he quite grasped, very possessive of publicly displaying those moments of intimacy. And while he sincerely doubted anypony would think much of it, or even notice at all, it was just another by-product of that little paranoid voice in his head telling him that lettering everypony know his state of mind was a mistake. Such was his lot.

The moment Raven entered the lobby of the Canterlot Apartments, a rather deceptively humble name for his residence as the abodes were more penthouse than apartment, he could tell something was quite different. Not wrong, like in his nightmare, but different. For starters, everypony was out and about. No pony crossed the lobby in a rush to be off and conduct business, or simply sleeping late, no. They were all deeply involved in discussion, each group of mingled voices combining with the exclamations being emitted from neighboring groups, creating an air that contained an energy he had not felt since… probably that massive DJ Pwn3 concert he had attended some months back. That reminded him, he needed to touch bases with Vinyl. And Octavia. He sighed as he realized how far behind he was in maintaining what few friendships he had. In truth, both of the members of the musical elite were more acquaintances than friends, but he still felt the tug of social protocol telling him that calling upon the DJ and the cellist would be proper. He forcibly pulled himself back into the present as Hop trotted up to him, the morning paper in hoof.

"Mr. Writingdesk! Have you seen the news, sir?"

"Seeing as how you were my wake-up call, I can hardly see how I could have," Raven remarked dryly as he took his paper from the bellboy. Most ponies who overheard him converse with Hop usually thought he was being quite mean to the lad, but he and Hop naturally understood one another and the colt took Raven's dry tones as the subtle jest they were intended to be.

"Lookit! Lookit!" Hop pointed his hoof over the top of the paper to poke at its front page. Raven arched an eyebrow at the colt's antics, though not in a disapproving fashion, but merely to wonder what in the wide world of Equestria had gotten into the lad. And the paper quickly informed him.

At first, Raven thought someone had pulled an elaborate prank, but it struck him that those groups around him were all clustered about reading the paper as well, discussing the details of the picture and headline he was now studying.

"'Princess' Twilight," he said aloud, though quite mumbled as he had not intended to actually vocalize his surprise. And he was surprised. "I knew she was Celestia's protégé, but still…"

"And! And!" Hop poked at the text below the picture of the youthful, just-named Princess. Background details, areas of study and expertise, and…

"Heir?" Raven said, this time intentionally enunciating the word. "But…" Celestia is well known to be over a thousand years old and according to all records, she had not aged a day in that entire millennia. What…?

"How can you be an heir to someone immortal? And what happens to Luna?" Raven found himself asking, scanning the paper for mention of the Princess of Night, or any further details as to the impact this change would have. While there was plenty of information about the new princess, it all seemed to be in retrospect; there was no mention as to how future events would be affected. Hop, meanwhile, seemed in far to high of spirits to consider much else apart from the joy he was experiencing from the good news. And it was good news, truly, and Raven certainly did not want to detract from that fact, but still… More facts would have been nice. It must have all been rather sudden…

"There is going to be an assembly to greet the new Princess!" Hop was saying, as he seemed to be doing his best to live up to his name by actually hopping back and forth from left hooves to right hooves, doing odd little dances that reminded Raven that despite the fact the colt was growing up, he was still a colt. Raven flipped through to the "current events" section and found the time for the assembly Hop mentioned. Sure enough, that very afternoon, 2pm.

"Is breakfast on schedule, Hop?" Raven inquired inattentively as he continued to peruse the original article.

"It is running a little late," Hop admitted as he tried mightily to contain his antics so that he could properly listen, "but I can grab some fruit or something of that description while you wait."

"That would be lovely," Raven noted softly, moving away from the boisterous youth while still reading the paper. "I'll be at my usual table."

The "usual table" was situated in the corner of a half-moon balcony, neatly tucked behind a very tall, very green variety of fern. It offered an excellent view from a discrete location, just how Raven liked, well, most everything, really. Hop arrived soon thereafter and was, as always, better than his word. Along with the assorted fruits, he had found a fresh muffin and brewed a pot of tea, which he discretely left at the table. Raven made a note to tip the colt; what with this interesting development, it was likely he would remain at his table and ruminate on these new occurrences. As such, it was equally likely he would need the entire pot, and he appreciated how Hop had apparently considered that.

Raven had hardly touched the first of the strawberries, and not even taken two sips of his tea, when Hop had approached him once more. This time, the colt's energy was well-contained and he merely handed a sealed envelope over to Raven before taking his leave without a word. Raven had to hand it to the lad; it took a measure of mature discretion to know when and when not to speak. He returned his attention to the letter he now had in hoof. Seeing a detail of interest, he immediately put the envelope on the table, seal down and, casually, checked around himself. No one seemed to be watching him, though he did notice that Hop had taken to busing a table that was conveniently in his line of sight. Sharp lad had certainly recognized the seal.

Satisfied that nopony out of the ordinary was watching, Raven turned the envelope back over and considered it for a long moment, weighing what the envelope itself told him. Most obviously, the seal was of a deep red wax. While red wax was by far the most common color used to seal envelopes, there were numerous purveyors of the stuff, and as such, if one developed one's senses of observation, signature methods of wax-making could be distinguished. Wax made in Ponyville, for example, was several shades darker than virtually all other waxes due to the logs harvested from the Everfree Forest, the smoke from which could be quite thick and almost universally blackened wax as it was manufactured. On the other hand, the usual Canterlot waxes were a vibrant blood-red so that a seal could be more easily distinguished, but the wax itself had no real personality to speak of. The wax Raven was currently considering, however, had neither impurities nor shade variations. That meant that this wax had been made by the Flicker family, a revered pedigree in Canterlot that was known for being the manufacturers of every wax-based necessity used strictly within the walls of Canterlot Castle.

From candles to beeswax, the Flickers had, over the course of generations, honed what most would consider a simple craft into an art so distinct that one could even tell which member of the family had created what object. In the case of the wax on Raven's envelope, he instantly recognized the flawless consistency and unparalleled red as coming from a single, minute, and highly controlled quantity which had been produced by none other than the clan's elderly matriarch, "Gran" Flicker. Despite his near compulsion to discover odd, remote, yet interesting pieces of information, Raven did not even know what "Gran" Flicker's first name actually was. But what he did know was that he had heard a rumor on good authority, and that rumor had it that "Gran" Flicker had only made wax by her own two hooves once in the last decade, and it had been on the occasion of Princess Luna's redemption and return from exile. And it had been made expressly for Princess Luna's personal use. Raven, and most everypony who heard the rumor, made an educated assumption this was a sign of fealty to the returning princess.

As for the seal in the wax, it was merely the Royal Seal, if such a thing could be "merely" anything, though it was interesting that it was the generic coat of arms rather than the princess's personal stamp. But because it was made in this unique and priceless wax, she may as well have signed her name with flourished calligraphy across the front of the envelope, though Raven was fairly confident that of all the individuals who probably handled it, only he would have picked up on that detail.

Raven leaned into the envelope and breathed a long, heavy breath onto the seal to make it ever so slightly malleable, then, using a butter knife, carefully pried the small, red lump up from the magnificently manufactured parchment. He placed the intact seal neatly in a linen napkin which he then covered delicately and placed close at hand; whatever the content of the letter, he was certainly going to keep the wax seal as a token of the occasion. The letter, too, of course; burning such parchment would have been, to his mind, tantamount to a crime. The words were penned in a brand of ink he was not familiar with and as he was an author who had used virtually every variety known to ponies, he was rather taken aback by his ignorance. The prose was illustrated in what he could only describe as an archaic manner, as though the individual penning the piece had received writing instruction strictly from sources over a millennia old. Knowing what he knew, though, that fact was not entirely surprising. And the letter read:

"To Ser Raven Writingdesk,

Our royal personage does extend you an invitation to the coronation of our new sister-in-magic, the Princess Twilight Sparkle, and to a private social event following the public festivities.

Her Royal Highness, Mistress of the Night, and the Lady of Dreams,

The Princess Luna"

An invitation to the palace, while always an honor, was not an unusual event for Raven. After all, the "Sir" title the princess employed in addressing him had not spontaneously appeared. But any invitation to the castle he received in the past had always come from the royal offices, and never from either of the Princesses directly, apart for the occasion when he was knighted, of course. This was certainly something different.

Raven carefully put the letter back in its envelope and placed it back on the table before him, then picked up his tea and looked out from his balcony at the vista of Canterlot before him. But he was not seeing the grand, spired and inspired cityscape of Canterlot. Rather, his mind was lost in an ocean of speculation. What could Princess Luna want with him? True, he was technically a knight and therefore on a short list to receive invitation to the vast majority of social functions that took place in the castle, but his knighthood was not exactly for battles won in the traditional sense. Essentially, all he had done was write a book of poetry and short stories. Granted the book had received virtually unanimous acclaim and many ponies calling themselves critics named it the "most important work of our time." And apparently, Celestia had shared that same sentiment enough to knight him for his efforts. He was not sure what to make of that last part, especially. After all, the book revolved around the subject of darkness and night so both the legends of Luna and of her alter-ego Nightmare Moon were prominently featured throughout his work. In fact, if he were pressed, and perhaps rather drunk, Raven would have admitted that Nightmare Moon was precisely who the compilation was about.

There had just always been that something, a quiet, and sometimes very unquiet, darkness somewhere inside him, and he had identified with the tales of Nightmare Moon as a colt when he listened to those old mares' tales with rapt, adoring attention. And when he had grown up and begun to write, it only felt natural for that darkness to find its way into the black ink that oozed from his pen. And everypony had liked it. In such an idyllic land with such a joyful, friendly populace, everypony still liked it. Broken friendship, everlasting night, darkness, and hate. It had said "dark and often disturbing content" right there in the description. And everypony had bought the book, talked about the book, and loved the book.

Now he was rich and famous, left to wonder how it had come to this. Not that he didn't like the money, he simply felt as though he had not earned it. There were rock farmers doing one hundred times the manual labor for ten thousand times less the pay. All he had done was put the blackness in his heart onto paper, bound it with twine, and chucked it at a publisher to see if it stuck. And once Princess Luna had returned, well, sales of his book had skyrocketed once again. He had made enough during the following week of her reinstatement to purchase a permanent residence in Canterlot Castle if he had so chosen; he had not because he preferred to be closer to the heart of the city. He had not meant to make such a successful book. He had not meant to write a book that had been hailed as "defining for generations to come." Especially since, in light of events, he felt somehow as though his success had come at the expense of the princesses, especially Luna. And despite his antisocial patterns, he never would have wanted to gain at their loss. Or any ponies loss, for that matter.

Raven resisted cursing himself, and just clenched his teeth momentarily instead, trying to relax as quickly as he could before somepony noticed the physical manifestations of his inner turmoil. And now Princess Luna had personally invited him to a coronation and the royal equivalent of a meet-and-greet afterparty. He had repeatedly read the legends about Nightmare Moon when he was growing up. He adored the idea of a sister scorned, of her dark vengeance, and the justified but bitter banishment, leaving her to become no more than the Mare in the Moon; a once powerful alicorn reduced to a scary bedtime story to keep naughty fillies and colts in line. He had loved the idea, the concept of Luna, and Nightmare Moon. He felt as though there was a piece of that darkness in his own heart, reaching out, aching to be acknowledged and understood. Now the real Luna had actually reached out.

Despite his relative youth, still being less than thirty, Raven was under no misconceptions about the differences between the Luna/Nightmare Moon in his book and the Princess Luna which had been redeemed and now watched over the night in royal vigil. The image in his mind, the ideal he had worshipped and idealized and written about was no more real than hairless, talking apes. But that did not immunize him from realizing he had butterflies in his stomach now, and not just from a sense of unease. And because Luna had penned the invitation herself, protocol demanded that at the event, he should approach her and thank her. She would then acknowledge his thanks and enter into royally approved small-talk. He could see it now:

"Thank you, Princess Luna, for extending me an invitation."

"We are grateful for your thanks, Ser Raven Writingdesk. Now, if thou wouldst make effort to produce reason as to why thou didst fetishize my darkest and most intimate hours, molding them into mere entertainment for mine subjects. Didst thou think to mock me? Perhaps the gold thou hast garnered for your efforts was thine motive!"

"Princess, please! Have mercy on your servant!"

"Silence! Thou shalt be henceforth banished! Away with thee to mine own former bastille! May thou find some recompense in the craters of the lunar surface!"

Raven knew he was being overly dramatic in his worrying; turning any event into a sweeping drama was one of the perks, and drawbacks, of being a writer. However, despite his fears, there was truly only one thing mattered: he would be attending. How could he not?

His mind resolved, Raven requested Hop to bring him a pen, paper, and envelope. Upon receiving these instruments, Raven quickly produced an RSVP reply then gave it to Hop who would in turn ensure it reached a courier. And so it was settled: Raven would attend. And he was certain, whatever the result, it would likely be a night to remember.

"A little white ago, my teacher and mentor, Princess Celestia, sent me to live in Ponyville. She sent me to study Friendship, which is something I didn't care much about. But now, on a day like today, I can honestly say I would not be standing here if it weren't for the friendships I've made with all of you. Each one of you taught me something about Friendship, and for that I will always be grateful. Today, I consider myself the luckiest pony in Equestria! Thank you, friends! Thank you, everypony!"

-newly crowned Princess Twilight Sparkle

"For a first endeavor, it was a fine speech."

"And rumor is it was improvised; I consider her first address a most excellent effort in that light."

"If it were anypony else who spoke in that manner about the importance of friendship, I would doubt their sincerity. But as I understand it, it was the magic of Friendship which empowered her to become our new Princess, so I cannot help but applaud!"

Raven sipped his punch discretely from his corner of the Canterlot Castle Ballroom, though he partook in the fruity beverage simply because it provided a discrete medium by which to ingest the contents of his hip flask. He called the corner "his" merely because he was the only one occupying it and it was where he had retreated on numerous royal occasions after retrieving dainties and a drink from the buffet tables. It was also an excellent location to listen to the conversations of those around him without having to join a conversation; due to the acoustics of the ballroom once it was full, anypony could actually distinguish anything said from any location, provided one knew where to stand. Which he did.

"Well, we have a princess to raise the sun and another to raise the moon; I can only wonder what purpose our new princess will serve." That was a fairly common question he'd been hearing.

"Speaking of the princesses, where are they?" That one had also been cropping up.

And seeing as he did not see anypony of particular interest, at least none who were already otherwise engaged in conversation, Raven left the ballroom and slowly exited to the royal garden and menagerie. It was an excellent place to walk and to think, and seeing as he did not have any social responsibilities currently, he felt no reason not to adjourn to that peaceful retreat.

The path Raven took led him around the far edge of the gardens, allowing him to pass through a wide courtyard from which one could look straight down into the city of Canterlot, or straight forward to the very horizon of Equestria. And quite a grand sight both views always were. At the current moment from which Raven was gazing upon them, occasional balloons from the earlier coronation parade continued to find their ways upward from under ledges and rooftops, giving the empty air the bittersweet feeling one experiences after a grand party has come to a close. The sun was on its way down and Raven wondered if perhaps the reason at least Princess Luna was late was because she was needed to raise the moon shortly.

"I did not think anyone else would be up here."

Raven looked over his shoulder to find a face he knew very well approaching. His knowledge of the face was not personal, but rather the individual was so famous, it was hard to not know of her.

"Princess Twilight. I'm honored."

"And I'm not used to that title," the young pony smiled as she approached to stand beside him at an amicable distance. "Don't think I will be for a good thousand years."

Raven silently returned his gaze back to the streets and avenues of Canterlot far below. He knew why the princess was here. He was no mind-reader, of course, nor was he acquainted with her in any fashion, but he had a writer's mind mixed with darkness and a dash of paranoia. Apart from the mind-shattering adjustments she would be obliged to endure, he also knew she had already begun to realize that many of the perks of being an alicorn princess would one day be sources of great pain for her.

But he also knew she understood this, and as such, she did not need him, of all ponies, to remind her of it. Clearly, she was here to try and clear her mind before attending the meet-and-greet. And he just happened to occupy the place where she was gathering herself.

"May I congratulate you on your coronation, princess," he offered respectfully, though the sentiment was rather uninspired. "It was a lovely occasion."

"Thank you," was the socially proper response. After a moment of silence, the newly crowned alicorn, turned to him with a sly grin. "I know who you are. I must have read your book five times."

"I'm flattered, princess," Raven smiled his thanks. And he genuinely was. Reports were that Twilight was first and foremost a pony of science and magic, those two great practices which are kept within the strict boundaries of quantifiable result and information. So to have her enjoy his creative efforts was a great compliment.

"I think I prefer more light-hearted fictions, but your talent is undeniable," she noted in a matter of fact voice.

"Coming from you, that is a great compliment," Raven acknowledged. He felt his old companion Silence begin to settle in and his mind raced at a way he could ward it off. "My invitation tonight came from Princess Luna. Do you know why she would invite me, of all people?" Ok, that was far more straightforward than was probably appropriate.

"Honestly, I don't know Princess Luna very well yet," Twilight admitted, graciously fielding his query without hesitation. "So I cannot really judge as to how she received your book. I do not know if she has even read it."

Well, that was far less awkward than it could have been. He changed topics.

"Do you usually avoid social gatherings?" he inquired mildly. As it was quite obvious he was doing the same thing, it was no surprise she took the question as the mild jest he had intended it to be.

"If it involves my friends, no," Twilight smiled sadly. "And I do look forward to making more friends from my new position. I just… I look at how many ponies Princess Celestia knows and how few genuine friends she has. That isn't to say she doesn't have friends, but none of them seem like my friends." She took a deep breath, apparently forcing her mind to stop running away from her; how familiar he was with that sensation. "As much as I love Celestia, as much as I aspire to her level of accomplishment, I don't want to be like her. I don't want to be so alone. And I don't even want to imagine how she managed when Princess Luna was… away." There was an inference behind that admission; Princess Twilight knew that someday it was likely she would be just as alone as Celestia was once. Everypony she knew, apart from the princesses, were mortal, and within mortality, as the immortal bard wrote, lies the rub.

"Then I suppose," Raven's voice spoke before he could stop it, "that is where the concept of duty comes in. The self-sacrifice of leadership." Twilight seemed to ponder that for several moments, and as she did, the sun began to sink behind the western mountains.

"I suppose so." Then she seemed to purposefully pick herself up in a resolute manner and a warm smile light up the waning twilight. "But now is not the time for worrying; my friends are still here and I am far from alone!" And she made as though to launch herself on her new wings, then halted herself. "Sir Writingdesk, would you be so kind as to escort a princess back to the ballroom?" Raven bowed low and replied with appropriate aplomb.

"It would be an honor, your Royal Highness."

When Raven and the princess returned to the ballroom, Princesses Celestia and Luna stood atop the stairs in the entryway to the ballroom from the castle proper, and as such when the side doors to the garden were cracked, many eyes turned that way. And when Twilight herself appeared, of course there was much cheering and jubilation at the development, which continued as she teleported herself in a flash of pink and purple to stand beside her new sisters in magic. As for Raven, he did his level best to fade back into the crowd, a feat not easily accomplished as the vast majority of ponies of Equestria always seemed to have such light-colored hides and the contrast of his black one against theirs stood out like a sore hoof. Still, he'd been of a mind that enjoyed vanishing in crowds since he was a colt and so he was quite good at it by now.

Unfortunately, these efforts were quickly stifled as this was not just a Canterlot party. This was a meeting of high society, a place where a pony went to be noticed and heard. Eveypony talked to everypony not necessarily because they were interested, but because such events were used as information exchanges. Everypony did their level best to know every other pony's opinion and intentions on any and all matters of business connected to the topic of the social gathering. In this case, where they stood on the subject of Twilight, what everypony thought of her, and what manner of business they believed could make a profit around her. Egalitarian though Equestria was, there was reason certainly reason as to the existence of an upper class.

Due to this outpouring of aimless conversation, Raven soon found himself lassoed into quid-pro-quo discussions with the other members of the Canterlot elite. He could keep his hooves under himself in these discussions and could, in truth, pull the rhetoric out from under his amicable opponents with razor-keen savvy, but he found such interactions shallow and, because he simply did not care, rather meaningless. He extracted himself as quickly as he could and found solace in the one place in the room he could: the line of Princess Luna's well-wishers. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

At any royal gathering, protocol dictated that the princesses accept a long line of guests who wanted to honor them. The event, while tedious, was an ancient tradition and allowed the opportunity for subjects to approached and address the princesses face to face. The best implementation of this system was during the annual Grand Galloping Gala, because while tickets were difficult to get a hold of, ideally any and every pony from any and every walk of life had the opportunity to speak with one of, both, and now all three, of the princess, which allowed a vast array of perspectives to receive audience.

In tonight's event, it was mainly a medium by which the Canterlot elite could thank the princesses for their respective invitations. Any and all brown-nosing was generally left for the day-to-day functions in court so that the princesses could have at least some time to enjoy the event rather than having to listen to each and every plea and platitude.

Of course, this usual convention had quite rapidly devolved because everypony seemed to be lined up to speak with the newly crowned Princess Twilight, so the wait to address her looked like it could easily last the length of the party. Raven thanked his lucky stars he had gotten the opportunity to speak with her in such a relaxed environment; she seemed like such a nice pony and he hoped the pressures of court would not overwhelm her tonight, let alone the weeks, months, and eventual millennia to follow. Then again, she would have Celestia watching out for her, and that would certainly be a comfort to the young princess

The line to talk to Luna, conversely, was only two ponies long and both of them had said their respective pieces to the midnight blue princess of the night by the time Raven had ascended the stairs.

"Ah, Ser Writingdesk," Luna regally observed as he approached. His stomach flipped-flopped; by all that was green in Equestria, she was lovely. Regal, strong- focus! She's talking to you.

"We found it agreeable that you replied to our invitation as quickly as you did."

"It is my honor and pleasure to serve, your Royal Highness," Raven stated easily, though he let more conviction slip into his tone than he had intended. But he was speaking with Princess Luna; this even was not only a dream come true, but a literal wish made upon a star when he was but a colt. Even as a jaded and arguably insane realist, he still felt warm emotion trying to press down on his windpipe as the reality of the moment sunk in. Then again, maybe that was just the cold dread reemerging as he again wondered why she, of all people, had invited him to this event. More than likely it was a wonderful combination of them both.

"We were intrigued to see you escorting her Royal Highness Twilight back from the gardens," Luna noted imperiously. Ah, yes. That was probably not the most discrete location for a mare and a stallion to venture unaccompanied. Still, as he understood it, he was older than her older brother, so he hoped he would be given the benefit of the doubt in regard to assumptions made about intentions.

"We were not aware you were acquainted with our new sister," continued Luna, and there was something in her voice when she said that. It was not a tone; royalty never seemed to have a tone other than imperious when addressing subjects, but maybe it was the way her eyes made the words sound. There was an edge of protectiveness there, something that told him that he was not addressing Celestia's younger sibling, but Twilight's older sister.

"We are scarcely acquainted," Raven explained, doing his level best to sound as open and honest without being familiar. "The princess was kind enough to engage me in conversation, then, seeing as we were returning to the same location, offered for me to accompany her." There was some inner struggle behind Luna's eyes, and Raven guessed it was likely the princess's sensibilities from the old courts clashing with the new world of easy familiarity in which she now found herself. Whatever the result of her conflicting sentiments, it resulted in a courteous nod to Raven for his explanation, so he bowed low in response, then made to leave.

"Ser Writingdesk," the princess's firm voice bade him look back up to her. "If you would be so kind as to remain once the evening's festivities are concluded; we have a matter to discuss with you." Now that interesting mixture of emotion in his chest sank and gripped his gut with cold fingers.

"Your wish is my command, your Royal Highness," Raven bowed once again, then left. And the evening wore on.

Raven needed a distraction to keep his mind from working in its usual "assess and extrapolate" mind pattern, otherwise he knew he would end up dissecting possibilities of what Luna had meant and what I might mean and what would happen, and he was in no mood to play that game. He had just conversed with his childhood idol, and likely would again before the night was out; he would not ruin the mood as he had so many special occasions before. Not this time. And as luck or fate would have it, distractions ensued.

It turned out that there were several faces that Raven recognized appearing in the midst of the party, and the bonus was that he did in fact desire the opportunity to talk with. Vinyl, for instance, had finally made her appearance, fashionably late as always of course, and Raven went out of his way to touch bases with the superstar DJ. Vinyl was an interesting pony whose appetite for fun was extreme enough to label her "deviant" amongst the upper crust. Of course, deviant was right up Raven's alley and while he did not personally enjoy the over-the-top rambunctiousness of Vinyl's parties, her "Discord may care" attitude appealed to him and in that shared perspective, they understood one another very well. She had even made a dub-step single based on his book, naming her creation "Quoth the Raven," of all things. He had been, and still was, quite flattered by her effort, even more so when it had actually become a major hit.

After talking to Vinyl, Raven found the opportunity to pick the DJ's friend and roommate Octavia out of the crowd. A more refined, upper-crust pony, Octavia had long been a face in the Canterlot Court due to her unparalleled skills as a cellist and composer. How she and Vinyl had become friends, let alone roommates, Raven would never know, but her association with the hardcore DJ as well as her own limitless creativity in the area of musical composition made her interesting enough that he liked to converse with her when given the opportunity. And, of course, both the cellist and the DJ were genuine geniuses in their respective mediums, just as he was in his, so conversations between the three of them always brought some interesting ideas and perspectives to the fore. Unfortunately, due to the occasion, such a prolonged discussion was not on the agenda and Raven was forced to take his leave before too long.

Feeling uncharacteristically positive and rather sociable after this sudden influx conversation, Raven began to proactively work the room. He touched bases several ponies he knew in a professional capacity: Bon Bon, a celebrity confectionist who often exhibited several personality peculiarities of her own, Lyra, a successful independent musician, Sibsy, an artist of critical acclaim, and a brown stallion of limitless eccentricity who everyone simply knew as "The Doctor." The Doctor was always a wonder to talk to, and this night he was accompanied by a blond-maned date with… unique eyes. Initially, Raven was inclined to wonder what was wrong with the Doctor's wall-eyed companion, but then again, who was he to think of any condition as being wrong? Where was the inherent "wrongness" of derped eyes and a speech impediment? And in truth, she was a very sweet pony. A little clumsy, but so sweet that despite himself Raven was nearly brought to tears for all the smiling he found himself doing in her company, and when social convention obliged him to leave, he found he was very sorry to see her go.

And the evening wore on.

Royal events rarely seemed to have a moment where they are deemed to have ended. One moment, the ballroom is full of light conversation and background music, the next everyone realizes that the princesses have taken their leave. Many guests adjourn to the gardens, others trail to the exit one by one, in pairs, or small groups. The small orchestra packs its instruments while the servants begin cleaning tables and the floors. Conversation quickly becomes retrospective as the room dwindles, with everypony talking about what a superb occasion it had been. And seeing as this was an event that would quite literally never happen for at least another five lifetimes, it truly had been a party of special magnificence. And the in the darkness of the empty ballroom, marble floor still littered with confetti and napkins, Raven calmly continued to sip his spiked punch, staning quietly in his corner. Even when the candles sputtered, then guttered, then died, he remained, empty cup in hoof, smiling into the darkness. He knew social convention should make him wonder if perhaps the princess had misled him, but he was far too excited to think that. It was nighttime and that meant no pony was about; no pony could see him. For all intents and purposes, for just a few moments, he was no more than a shade in the dark, with only his own thoughts validating that he even existed. It was glorious.

For a long while, Raven remained in his corner, hidden amongst the shadows. The ballroom was actually surprisingly well-lit, thanks to a robust amount of moonlight which cast the empty venue in a liquid blue light. It was as though he were staring through the waters of the ocean. And it was beautiful.

Raven watched as a pair of guards moved past on patrol, walking in perfect step from the entrance to the castle, down the stairs past his corner, through deflated balloons and ribbon, then finally passed through the large double doors on the opposite side end of the marble hall. They closed the door behind themselves. Raven heard a key turn in the lock, the quiet sound of the bolt echoed ethereally around him as it slid comfortably home. By all the magic there was, he loved the night.

"If-"

Raven nearly jumped out of his own skin, and literally leapt off his hooves as he spun toward what had startled him.

"By Celestia!" he cursed before he could stop himself. Luna emerged from the around shadows of the corner of the ballroom on the other side of the doors to the castle. Raven exhaled a great breath.

"Forgive me, your Royal Highness," he breathed. "I had lost myself amongst the darkness." The princess did not immediately respond. In fact, her face was… unreadable. It was not an expression of stoic control, but rather he could tell very clearly that there was something happening in her mind, only he could not even remotely begin to put a hoof on what precisely she was thinking.

Now able to focus his attentions as he recovered from his unforeseen ordeal, Raven was immediately struck by Luna's appearance. She was beautiful, as always, but seeing her in the moonlight, under her cover of darkness, it was something beyond beauty. The way she held her head and looked out from her eyes, even the manner in which she placed her hooves on the ground displayed that this time of shadow and moonlight was her element. This was where she belonged. But perhaps most intriguing and wondrous of all was her mane. During the day, her midnight blue mane glimmered under the noon sun, but now, even with no sun, it glimmered just as brightly. It took several seconds for Raven to realize that Luna's mane was, in fact, not reflecting light from any source: it was creating it. He could not help but stare, and as he watched, there were points of light emerging, swelling, fading, peeking out here and there. It was as though she contained a galaxy within her. Or was one herself.

"If you would be so kind as to accompany us?" she inquired evenly, politely breaking his revere. Raven bowed, quite embarrassed for having been startled so easily and then doubly so for unceremoniously staring rather openly at her. Still, he did his best to gather what gravitas he could, then fell into step with the princess as she proceeded toward the gardens. The doors opened for them and they walked into the night air. After the space of five breaths, Luna spoke.

"Two years ago, I attended Ponyville's celebration of Nightmare Night."

Raven had heard of that particular occasion. Apparently, her initial appearance had literally produced screams from the citizens of Ponyville, but he also heard that everything had worked out in the end thanks to none other than the pre-princess Twilight Sparkle. More immediately, he was also interested that she had abruptly stopped employing the royal "we."

"I made… acquaintances with some of my subjects and I was shown that much about pony society had changed since my banishment. But despite the good experience, and it is indeed a memory I shall treasure, I learned something else that night as well. Something less than encouraging. I learned that my act of defiance against the natural order of day and night had not just made me Nightmare Moon, but an idea, a concept. Even after my exile, I remained a nightmare in their dreams. A wraith of the mind. A monster under little ponies beds." Raven said nothing.

"Part of my duties as Lady of the Night is to watch over the dreams of my subjects; there are some creatures better left unspoken of that can find purchase in our world through the sleeping minds of ponies. So I watch. I watch and I cannot help but see." She took a deep breath now, the first indicator Raven had been given as to what might be going on in her mind. "I see that am a nightmare still to some. I was exiled one thousand years, faded into half-forgotten myth, was then returned to my right mind through the power of Friendship, after which I was reinstated thanks to the gracious efforts of my sister, and yet, still, I am a nightmare. I've seen shades of myself in dreams, images conjured by the minds of sleeping ponies. Phillies and colts wake up crying at even an imagined sight of me.

"I cannot blame them. Nightmare Moon was not so much an alter-ego, but rather a title. There was no spell cast over me, no mind-altering device which forced me to do what I did. I became Nightmare Moon by conscientious choice. And my subjects continue to pay for my pride in their nightmares."

There were several beats of silence, the only sound being that of soft earth under their hooves. Luna continued.

"I read your book. It scared me. Frequently. It took nearly two weeks for me to get through it, it gripped me so. It was… It was as though you took my mind, turned it upside down, and spilled its contents over empty pages. Only…"

Raven dared not interrupt.

They walked in silence past a stone statue of an ancient hero, then past a pair of peacocks sleeping in a tree; Raven ducked to his right to avoid the male's long tail plumage. The large bird clucked in his sleep as they passed underneath. The night was still and mild. There was no noise; even the crickets were enraptured by the perfect night. Raven's flanks twitched in a shiver, even though he was not cold.

"It was beautiful, Raven," she finally spoke in a half-heard whisper. Then, regaining her voice, "You showed the world the darkness I had embraced, that I still carry locked deep inside. That perhaps I had always carried. But you showed me that I was no longer alone in that darkness; you were there in the blackness with me, and you embraced it. You made it beautiful; you showed Equestria that darkness is not equivalent to evil. That not all things good and beautiful shine under the sun for all to see. That some of the most glorious things in this world exist in the shadows, unseen and unpraised because they are unsought." She did not attempt to look him in the eye, and he did not attempt to initiate a gaze either. "I think I had forgotten how beautiful my nighttime was. How beautiful it always has been and will be. I don't know when I forgot, but I did. And you… Thank you, Raven. My most royal, most sincere, and most personal thanks to you." Raven was at a loss for words; he did not trust himself to speak.

"Your Royal Majesty," he heard himself say, his voice low and quiet with admiration, humility, and emotion. "I could not ask for, nor even imagine, a greater compliment."

Neither individual spoke another word for the remainder of the night. They simply walked under the bright night sky. Raven scarcely noticed when his hooves passed from manicured grass to marble, then to cobblestone. He did not consider that they were walking down hill, he did not even consider how long they had been travelling. But eventually, he merely realized that he was standing before the door to his apartment. And then she was gone.


	2. Beginning

"Alright class, settle down."

The boisterous classroom of fifteen did a reasonable impersonation of "settling," but since the attending students were either seven or eight years of age, being still was a practice that they had not entirely mastered yet. Nevertheless, fifteen pairs of bright, wide eyes stared expectantly up at their teacher, a fairly young mare with a toffee-colored hide and a caramel mane, the latter of which had prompted her parents to name her "Caramel."

"Today, we are going to do some writing!" Ms. Caramel proclaimed happily, fully expecting the unabashed groans and moans that did indeed follow. The poor reaction did not dampen her spirits; after all it came with the territory of teaching young fillies and colts, so she briskly continued into her lesson plan. "Now, who can tell me why we bother writing at all? Why bother with the pens and ink when we can just talk to one another?" It was a lower-energy day and not exactly a subject which excited young students, so she was not surprised when her question did not provoke with a response.

"Because words stay."

Ms. Caramel looked up to the back and right of the classroom to the little black colt that sat there.

"What was that, Raven?" she asked, more because she was surprised that she got an answer than to verify that something was said.

"Words on paper stay," Raven said, his little voice starting strong, but as faces began to turn toward him, Ms. Caramel could see his large, yellow eyes, rather like those of an eagle, begin to quiver slightly as attentions were brought to bear. But she thought she could see her student getting at an important point, so she gently encouraged:

"Go on, Raven."

Raven gathered himself and spoke: "If you say words, someone has to hear them or they go away. If you write down a word, it will stay there." Ms. Caramel was, as seemed to happen often, surprised at what her young students could grasp.

"That is exactly right, Raven," and then she addressed the class collectively. "When we write something down, we give words permanence." Big word for seven year olds. "We make them last. If you write down an idea, then go and eat your lunch, when you come back, the idea is still right there.

"So, I have a homework assignment for you: I want you to think of your favorite bedtime story then write it down."

"Can we write with crayon?" a little white filly with a flowing purple mane asked expectantly. "Crayon is pretty!"

"You can write with anything you want, Rarity, but make sure that you write the story, rather than draw it," Ms. Caramel smiled. "Do your best with spelling, ask your parents or older siblings for help if you get stuck, and I will look forward to reading what you have written after the weekend."

Writing penned by young ponies was always a treasured experience for Ms. Caramel to read; it was, in fact, one of the cornerstone motivations for her as a teacher. To see little minds learn and grow, it was, to her mind, one of the greatest series of events a pony could witness. She would dare call it a miracle. And more specifically for such an assignment as this, seeing each personality put down on a page in pen, pencil, crayon, and even paint was an absolute joy.

"Let's see…" Ms. Caramel flipped through the papers she was grading to check what her students had written about. Two stories about how the alicorns first raised the sun, five about the first pegasi, two about the invention of the rainbow, three retellings of Hearth's Warming Eve, and… She frowned and read aloud:

"'Nightmare Moon and Being Sad.'" Ms. Caramel felt… She was uncertain what she should feel. Clearly, this was a rather depressing, and adult, subject for a seven year old to be writing about, but on the other hand, the title was far more thought-provoking than she would have anticipated. So she read:

"Once upon a time, Princess Nightmare Moon tried to make night last forever, which is really bad because trees and grass and flowers need sunlight to grow. But my mom told me that sometimes ponies act bad because they are sad and they want attention. I do not understand why somepony would want a lot of attention, but that is what my mom said and she is really smart. So Princess Nightmare Moon was sent away to the moon by Princess Celestia and both sisters were really sad. The end." She checked the paper again. "By Raven Carpenter."

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Carpenter," Ms. Caramel greeted the large, black stallion as he entered her office. "I know parent-teacher conferences are right around the corner, but I felt this could not wait. Is," she checked the door, "Mrs. Carpenter joining us?"

"Mrs. Carpenter is no longer with us," was the reply, given in a voice so low it was more like distant thunder.

"I am so sorry," Ms. Caramel said hesitantly, her mind reeling at this quite unforeseen information. "Your son wrote a story and he referred to his mother in the present tense…"

"He has been having difficulties," Mr. Carpenter admitted stoically. Then more softly, "I… cannot say I have been much help for him."

"Ah…" was all Ms. Caramel could think to say. "I had called you here because the story your son had written was, well, quite sad, but under the circumstances, that does not seem so unusual." She scraped her front hooves together nervously, trying to consider how she could adjust her teaching to better help her student. "I suppose I should still say that the paper he wrote, while sad, was still very good."

"I don't believe I read it," Mr. Carpenter noted.

"Really? I assumed you had because there were no spelling errors."

The large, black head shook slowly. "I'm not really what you would call a stallion of words," he shrugged. "The colt probably already has a better grasp of lettering than I do."

"Well, he is quite good," Ms. Caramel said with conviction, presenting the "A+" paper to Mr. Carpenter. "He even has concepts of how acting in anger can stem from a deeper hurt. And… If I may be so bold, it would seem your wife's influence will continue to have a strong hold on him." She watched the stallion's big, grey eyes move back and forth slowly across the page. There was a tensing of the jaw and a moistening of the eyes, but both were suppressed quite quickly, and Ms. Caramel wondered how much of that suppression instinct would trickle down to little Raven.

"He called her 'Princess' Nightmare Moon," Mr. Carpenter noticed, pushing the paper back toward Ms. Caramel. "I'll have to make sure he knows not to do that."

Raven sat out under one of the many trees that scattered the rolling hills around Ponyville. With a colt's frown of concentration, he muttered aloud over a slab of rock he was using as an impromptu writing desk.

"Night… N-i… g-h… um… g-h-t. Night… Mare. M-a… 'Y?'… No… r-e. Nightmare." He looked at the painstakingly spelled word on the paper, and then drew a haphazard crescent to the side. "Nightmare Moon was sad… She was sent away… My mommy went away. And she was sad that she went away, too. So maybe… Maybe my mommy and Nightmare Moon are friends." He put his pencil down on the tablet, then slowly pushed it back and forth with a hoof as he watched two birds flit through the tree branches above him, then as they continued on through the cloudless blue sky in the direction of Sweet Apple Acres. "Maybe…"

At that moment, Raven's gaze was assaulted by a literal blast of color so bright that for a full second, he was convinced that he had been struck blind. Then, as his vision cleared, he saw a rainbow. But it was a rainbow unlike any he had ever seen. Instead of a stationary arc, it was a circle; an enormous, broad circle that raced outward like ripples made when a stone is dropped in a pond. All of this was accompanied by a sound like a magical thunderclap, powerful and shimmering as it streaked over hills and through valleys. He arched his head back, eyes wide and mouth wide open as the wash of color soared over his head, then he was hit by a gust of force so surprising that he was nearly knocked on his back. In an instant, there was only one conclusion his young mind could concoct:

"Mom!" And he threw his pencil and paper aside, racing for home as fast as his little legs could carry him. "Mom!" It had to be her! It was powerful magic and powerful magic meant that something powerful had happened and what was more powerful than his mom coming back from the moon? "Mom!"

"Dad!" he shouted as he raced into his father's carpentry workshop, darting around half completed tables and chairs. "Dad, where is mom?! I saw a magic boom, dad! She has to be back!"

"Son! Quiet!" Mr. Carpenter snapped, putting a sander back on his workbench. "What are you on about?"

"There was an explosion and a rainbow and it was magic!" Raven exclaimed in a rush, dancing around as his young legs refused to stand still. "It was big and loud and magic and mom loved rainbows so she has to be back!" Adult faces are hard to read, so Raven's first impression was that he wasn't explaining well enough because his father did not look happy. If anything he looked mad. But after a moment, his father sighed, and his eyes did the thing where they became flat and he looked back down at his son as the very image of dispassionate rationality.

"It is not your mother, son." It was said so gently and with such certainty that Raven immediately doubted the validity of what his two eyes had seen.

"But…" he tried, but his father's eyes did not flicker in the least. "But…" he changed tactics. After all, his dad had to listen to reason. "You must have heard it, dad! It was so loud."

"I was working, son," and he genuinely sounded apologetic. "You know how noisy it can get in here." And it was very true. Raven licked his lips, mind racing for a way to convince his father.

"Then come outside! Come outside and see!" And Raven raced back toward the doors of the workshop, checking every five steps to make sure his father was following.

When he got to the doors, Raven was confused for a moment because he could not see the moving rainbow, but then he remembered that it was moving awfully fast so he searched the horizon. There! There it was by the mountains! He opened his mouth to encourage his father to hurry, but the words caught in his throat as the cascade of color suddenly became indistinct, then passed over the mountains, disappearing from sight entirely. It was, of course, in that moment when his father emerged from the workshop.

"It… it was right there," Raven whispered as his elation from only moments before began to crack. He felt like a Pegasus who had just soared higher than any Pegasus before, only to suddenly have his wings disappear.

"No, son, look," his father encouraged, using a hoof to point in the opposite direction, behind them and over the workshop's roof. Raven looked. There was a rainbow. It was an ordinary rainbow, but still, his mother had loved them so.

"But I saw… There was a boom. A rainbow-boom."

"I believe you, son."

Raven was not convinced, but looked up at his father, whose sad, grey eyes were transfixed on the unscheduled rainbow, and he looked… happy. That was something Raven had not seen from him since… He looked back up at the rainbow and sighed.

"Mom's never coming home."

"No," his father said, his voice impossibly heavy with emotion. "But," his father amended, "perhaps she just got the chance to give you a proper good-bye."

"I saw a big rainbow-boom today. It was loud and pretty. I thought maybe my mom had come home, but my dad told me she was saying good-bye. That made me sad, but it also made me happy because I had not said good-bye and now I had said good-bye. I miss my mom and it makes me sad, but my dad told me today that it is ok to be sad sometimes."

There was a break in the writing, then it began again, only this time the words were written very boldly, as though the pen was pressed down with great force.

"I thought that was a good story so I wrote it down so the words would stay and then I got my cutie mark! It is a black feather in a blue inkwell! It is very nice and I like it lots! The End!"


	3. Walkabout in Baltimare

Raven Writingdesk was in a foul temper. Most ponies seemed to live their lives happily enough that they were unable to distinguish between a normal, day-to-day foul mood and when one became gripped by a foul temper. Raven personally found that a mood merely altered perspective, provoking more cynicism or hateful thoughts, while a foul temper… He had found foul temper to be not so much an internal struggle but rather a white-hot dullness that burns within an individual's chest creating a noise of rage that builds and builds until a pony wants nothing more than to do damage to another pony until their hooves stop twitching. Of course, drinking did not exactly help the situation, but since when are young adults known for wisdom?

Raven eyed the bottom of his pint with suspicion. He was certainly far enough down the line to pass-out-drunk that a pony could have slipped something in his glass and he would not have had a presence of mind to pick up on the change in taste. Then again, he was fairly certain this "friendly" establishment was watering down the beer; he'd never had a porter that tasted so much like cider. And there was that new voice of paranoia in his head; it had not been there when he graduated from schooling a month back, but it kept popping up more and more.

"Slipped something in your glass?" he thought to himself. "Only important ponies get drugged or poisoned." And he told his paranoia to shut up as he shoved his glass back across the bar. The bartender looked at him a little sideways, but gave him the refill. Raven put the last of his pocket change on the bar and took back his full glass. He had a sip and made a face at the full beverage; definitely tasted less like beer and more like water. Or piss. And that was all it took. The white-hot in his chest combusted and suddenly he felt very much as though he were no longer in control of his body. With as much resolve as one might employ to announce an engagement, Raven took his glass and smashed it on the head of the pony sitting next to him at the bar.

Bar fights are interesting ordeals. Most of the time, they get broken up pretty quickly and the offending party is chucked onto the street to be picked up by the cops, while some establishments let the fight continue and the patrons take bets on the impromptu occasion. And very rarely, one can find just the right kind of place where the moment something starts, it provides an excuse for every pony in the joint to dive right in. Before the glass from Raven's pint had even hit the floor, he was neck-deep in an all-out barroom brawl, a genuine anarchical melee.

Raven woke to a sound not unlike a rusty saw blade attempting to work its way through a particularly dense log. It took a few moments for him to realize that it was, in fact, his own snoring that he was hearing, which apparently was too hung over to realize it could stop now that he was awake.

"Hey!" And there was a sound of wood striking metal, only instead of hearing it, Raven felt it like a knife between the eyes.

"I said wake up!" Same sound and the blade twisted. Raven cracked an eye, only to close it again because apparently Celestia had raised the sun at about five hundred times its usual intensity; he could feel his corneas sizzling like bacon. Then, it struck him that he saw something unusual and, braving the pain, he cracked an eye again. Vertical bars and a blue uniform.

"Well, piss on me," Raven groaned, his own voice sounding like gravel in his ears.

"I think one of your cellmates already did," observed the voice that belonged to the uniform. "Now get up. As I am sure you are used to hearing, you don't have to go home but you can't stay here. Though we do expect you back for a court summons so you can pay your drunk and disorderly fine." Raven was vaguely aware that he was being hassled and pushed to his feet by another pair of uniforms, though he swiftly found himself flat on his chin when he tried to use one for support.

"Damn college kids," he heard a different uniform mutter. "Can't handle a hangover."

"When I was his age," Raven felt himself get hauled to his feet and prodded forward once more, "I never got hangovers. Guy must have consumed his weight in alcohol to be this out of it. Might even be drunk still."

"Nah, we tested him."

Raven cracked an eye again and found himself in a place with no natural lighting, so he peeked out of his other eye as well.

"Sign here," came a voice like a cymbal clash. He took the pen that popped into his vision and scribbled on what appeared to be a solid black line on the bottom of the paper before him.

"Close enough," the first uniform shrugged, and he was turned around into a blast of light. He wanted to close his eyes, but he was being hurried along too quickly to try and make the walk blind, so he just took it until his eyes started streaming.

"Oh, for the love of Celestia," the first uniform sighed, then after a moment the brightness became tolerable as cold metal sat on his ears and straddled his nose. "You owe me a pair of aviators, you dumb bastard." And then he was shoved out into the crisp, Fall Baltimare morning. He sighed resentfully, being reminded for perhaps the tenth time that month why he preferred drinking alone. There were always more demons when a pony drank alone, but at least there were no follow-up fines. Not that he would be able to pick up this tab for the pigs. He sniffed and began to test out putting one hoof in front of the other; time to skip town.

"Hey!" Raven didn't have a chance to dodge out of the way a body ran into him from behind, its momentum feeling quite like that of another pony being tossed out after sleeping it off in a cell. "Watch the glasses!" the voice pierced his ears with all the keen subtlety of a cudgel wrapped in barbed wire. "These things cost more than that badge, pig!" There was an indelicate response involving rather base language. "Oh, bravo! Bravo! Way to show all the young'ins how to protect and serve, jackass! Yo, sorry about that. Didn't have much say in which direction I went." It took Raven a moment to realize the new voice was talking to him, so he picked himself up and adjusted his glasses, but when he was about to tell the mare off, he found that his hangover had taken most of the vinegar out of him.

"Whatever," he heard himself mumble.

"Oh, come on!" the voice continued, suddenly sounding way too cheerful for a pony with a hangover. "A night in prison isn't that bad." A hoof popped into Raven's vision. "Name is, well, not important, but everypony knows me as Vinyl Scratch."

"Everypony knows you, huh?" Raven squinted up at an electric-blue mane and a grin he could only describe as "audacious."

"Well, once I make it big, hell yeah, everypony!" Vinyl confirmed with such arrogant confidence that, despite himself, Raven smiled and took the outstretched hoof to give it a single, hard shake. "Hey, you look like a stallion that needs a pick-me-up. I know a coffee place around the corner I always go to after a night in prison."

"Well," Raven shook his head, his smile threatening to actually stay on his face, "I do always like to listen to the advice of veterans."

Turned out, Vinyl had not been kidding about the coffee place. Instead of asking what she would be drinking, the barista merely wondered how much the fine was this time.

"Five hundred and change, nothing major," Vinyl shrugged as she took her black coffee from the counter and handed Raven his, though neither of them even ordered. Or payed. "Must be losing my edge."

"Who's the stallion?"

"Fellow wayfaring soul on a walkabout," Vinyl smiled. "Thanks for the coffee, Jewel."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you're a rather odd duck," Raven decided as they took their seats in a darker corner.

"And here you are following me around," the white mare shrugged.

"Fair enough." Raven nodded at her cutie mark, a symbol he recognized as double eighth notes.

"Music, huh?" he asked. He received a nod at his own mark.

"Writing, huh?"

"What kind of music do you put together?" Raven asked as he took a sip of his coffee, though he immediately balked at the taste, nearly snorting the concoction out his nose. He frowned into it, and then realizing what the strange taste was, continued to drink.

"Only sure thing to take the edge off a hangover," Vinyl nodded with a knowing smile, hoisting her own mug. "More alcohol. Cheers." They both drank. "So! Saw you start that brawl last night. Not exactly my thing, but figured it was as good an excuse as any to blow off some steam."

"I don't recall seeing you," Raven frowned.

"I was passing by when it broke out," smiled Vinyl. "Picked up the trashcan outside the door and put it through the window so I could join in." She prodded an angry cut under her right eye gingerly. "Sounded like a good idea at the time."

"But you're not into bar fights?"

"Oh, I'll try anything once."

"Huh… Well, thanks for this," Raven hoisted his mug slightly in salute. "Been here for a month now and I hadn't made a single friend."

"Psh, you must not be trying," Vinyl snorted good-naturedly. "I've been here two weeks and haven't paid for a damn thing because I made friends."

"Yeah, well, an outgoing mare is a little less threatening than a menacing stallion."

"Menacing? Oh, come on, well, maybe a little; you do kind of have crazy eyes. But my point is still valid."

"Definitely going to hit the road tonight, in any case," Raven decided. "Can't afford the fine they want to give me."

"Oh, yeah? Not from around here then?"

"Nah. I grew up in a small town a little way from Canterlot. I've been, I dunno… I guess like you said, I'm on a walkabout."

"Cool. Yo, I know you want to take off, but if you want to meet some really cool ponies, I got a concert tonight you should totally come to. Music, booze, hot mares, huh? Yeah? Yeah?"

Raven took a long swig from his coffee and bourbon to mask a smile. Now this was an intriguing pony. His brain wanted nothing to do with a party, but, what the hay, he was young and looking for… something. May as well attend.

"What kind of music did you say you were into?"

Raven looked down at the paper in his hoof, then back up at the dark collection of dilapidated waterfront warehouses. His initial instinct was that Vinyl may have unintentionally, or intentionally, given him the wrong directions. As much as the young mare had left a favorable impression with him, his evolving, or perhaps devolving, sense of paranoia kept prodding him to say that she had misled him.

"Hey."

Raven turned to see a group of approximately twenty mares and six stallions who were

about his age, a few older, a few younger.

"You here for the party, too?" Well, at least now he knew he was in the right place.

"Yeah," nodded Raven. "Just trying to pick out which place is ours."

"I'd guess the one that just kicked on the strobes," one of the young stallions pointed out and Raven turned to see the frosted, glass windows of the second closest warehouse as they began to flash sporadically.

"Good enough for me," Raven agreed and the party moved forward at a quick trot, and as they did so, he saw several groups appear out of the darkness from all directions, converging on the distant strobes as though it were the beacon of paradise. And suddenly Raven got the sensation that he had stumbled upon a world for which he was not entirely prepared.

The first thing that hit Raven was the bass. Before he had even reached the warehouse doors, he felt his teeth rattle in his skull; he could not even hear music, but he could feel it, which was a sensation altogether new to him. After all, he had grown up in Ponyville, maybe making the occasional venture to Canterlot, and when a pony heard music, what did that pony hear? Classical composition. 4/4 time or 2/4 time. But this…

"Crank the techno!" he heard some pony shout, and suddenly Raven was swept away in a press of bodies and voices raised in unmatched revelry, all writhing to a rapid-fire bass and jittering electronic noise. Lights came on, red, blue, yellow, purple, white, all accompanied by strobes that pulsed in time with the beat. Raven was completely out of his element.

"There he is!"

Raven turned, expecting to see someone half the warehouse's considerable length away, but instead Vinyl Scratch was right at his shoulder, already in the midst of a hoof-shake to hug style that he was not familiar with.

"How can you hear anything?" Raven shouted, surprised at how little of his own voice he could hear over the beat.

"You kidding? Wait until I take over the reins; I've got something special planned for tonight." She tossed a hoof over his shoulder and her posture became downright conspiratorial. "I'm going to make my name tonight." Then she leaned in so close, she was able to whisper and he still heard it. "It's gonna be epic."

"Glad I ran into you then," Raven shouted as Vinyl released him, not exactly certain how he was supposed to react to such a statement. "When do you get to take over?"

"Gotta wait until I feel just the right lull," she explained as they made their way to a neon-lit bar. "If a DJ is good enough to DJ a party like this, there should be no lulls, so when there is, it's open season. Until then," she swept a shot from a pony who wasn't looking, then pounded it like a pro, "we party."

Raven had never considered himself to be much of a party animal. Even when he got pretty drunk, he always got more sullen, rather than fun, so while he certainly imbibed with Vinyl, he avoided going too far into tipsy.

He wasn't certain how long he had been working on his wallflower routine when he suddenly realized that Vinyl was gone. For a moment, he bit his lip nervously, but then he reminded himself that mingling was really one of the cornerstones of such an occasion, though to even consider it in such multisyllabic expressions would already indicate that one is thinking about it too much. Raven called for one more shot, then began to scan the room for a solo mare that struck the right chord.

"Hi there."

Raven turned toward the voice and hoof on his right shoulder to find himself looking into the dark eyes of a mare that struck the right chord.

"You looked a little lost," the chocolate maned beauty shrugged at him. "Come on. The fun is over this way." And she walked, or rather strutted in an alluring and distinctly female manner, out onto the dance floor. Raven took a deep breath.

"Fuck it," he whispered to himself, then he downed his shot and followed the temptress. "What are you afraid of?"

For the next undeterminable length of time, there was no talking, just a beat, noise, manes, sweat, and curves. A lot of curves. Some parts seemed like they were in slow motion, a glance from under eyebrows here, a sway of the hips there, while the rest of the time it was as though reality kept having to catch up because of those lapses. And then it happened. There was a lull.

"Mares and stallions!" Raven knew that voice and swept his sweat-soaked mane out of his eyes to look up at a raised podium on the far side of the warehouse. Sure enough, Vinyl Scratch stood upon the metal structure, surrounded by amplifiers and subwoofers, most of which were taller than her. "My brothers and sisters in beat!" A vast cheer accompanied this last greeting, and Raven found himself among them. "I have journeyed to the mountain top! I have seen the face of the music! And I return to you with a gift from our gods!" The cheering reached a fever pitch. Vinyl brought up her hooves to quiet the crowd and after a few moments, a hush descended upon the assembly until it became a silence so eerie that Raven actually felt terror. "Mares and stallions…" Vinyl continued, a vicious grin of pride and expectation cutting clear across her face. "I give you… the wub."

There is a point at which a sound is no longer merely a sound. It does not achieve this state because of amplitude or frequency, but rather it is because it transcends mere waveform and becomes a force. A literal force.

No sooner had Vinyl uttered this odd new word then the collective power of the speakers, amps, and subs behind her combined into a blast like that of a massive cannon, creating a shockwave that shattered the warehouse's windows and nearly brought Raven to his knees. But that was only an initial volley, the opening salvo of a great military campaign set on world domination: Vinyl Scratch had brought dubstep to Equestira.

The initial blast did not behave as a techno beat, but instead elongated to a point of tension and instead of snapping off, it catapulted back into itself, creating a beat that was simultaneously regular but unpredictable.

For a single moment in time, that warehouse full of hundreds, perhaps a thousand ponies, stood in awe as the tidal wave of force-noise crashed over them, then the entire, vast assembly bounced once, and they were swept away. Fog machines erupted, green lasers joined the lights, and the strobes began their glorious work in proper fervor.

"Yo, Raven!"

Raven turned, for the third time that evening, finding Vinyl Scratch at his shoulder again.

"Cops! It's time to bounce!"

"Your gear!" he pointed up at all the equipment on the stage.

"Most of it doesn't belong to me, the rest is a casualty of war! Besides," she tapped her saddlebag, "I've got the tracks that matter."

They ran through the still dancing crowd.

"Shouldn't we put the word out the cops are coming?"

"They either know, don't care, or are too innocent to know. And if they're too innocent to know, then they'll get off easy. But you and I have priors that aren't even twenty-four hours old!"

Raven considered this and their options as they burst out a back door, picked their way

through broken glass from the shattered windows, then continued on deeper into the abandoned waterfront.

"Manehatton?" he thought.

"Manehatton!" Vinyl confirmed.

An hour later, Raven and Vinyl were train-bound for the short, single-hour trip to Manehatton. Neither had said a word since the warehouse.

Finally, Raven looked over at Vinyl, who was busy scrubbing some debris off of her glasses with her tail. She caught his eyes.

"Vinyl?" he began with a satisfied sigh and smile. "That was pretty epic."


	4. C'est la Vie

"Look, I know it's the typical line you hear when somepony first sits down, but I still feel compelled to say that I really don't want to be here."

"May I inquire why you are here then?"

"Because I can't take it anymore… I can't do it. And because of choices I have made, I do not have a… 'classical' support system."

"'Classical'?"

"Parents, friends. That kind of thing."

"You have neither?"

"I do but… I like solitude. I don't know why, I just do. Always have. And so I never, you know, developed interpersonal skills. Or friendships."

"And so you decided to come here?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

…

"Raven?"

"… Because I'm scared."

Raven shook his mane out, more of a jittering action than an attempt to bring the rat's nest into a semblance of order. He had not bathed in days and his once excellently maintained mane was now matted, dull, and thick with skin oils and sweat. His eyes stared out from under this haphazard hay bale, the whites long since turned red as capillaries had worked to the point of fracturing in order to keep the ocular structures operational. The orbs bounced around at abrupt, random intervals inside their sockets, as though if they stopped moving they would perish.

Raven worked his left hoof up and down on the bridge of his nose, a nervous action that had so often been repeated that he had actually chafed away enough hair and skin that it had begun to bleed.

But despite the degrading and devolving state he was in, the part of his physical body that was the worst of was his right hoof. For hours, it had been moving non-stop, pen furiously moving left to right, next line, left to right, next line, left to write, over and over, page after page after page. Sometime ago his arm had begun to hurt, then it was agony, and now he could not feel anything. But he kept going. He had to.

The pages now scattered around him contained every kind of writing in every kind of style. Here, a fully written short story penned in first-pony perspective about how the writer receives a visitation from Death. There, a poem that sometimes rhymes, sometimes doesn't, then finally completely fell apart into a free-form jumble of words written layer upon layer until the ink blended together, making the paper illegible. Excerpts from his life, lists and lists of names, scientific and philosophically-minded wonderings about what would happen should the Universe collapse, a compilation of verbs that each had a connection to the last one written, anything. Anything, anything, anything. He had to keep going, he had to keep writing, he had to, he could not stop.

Around him, the energy flowing from page to unrelated page projected an aura of protection about him. If he kept going, he could keep it up. He could add to it. Make it stronger. More fuel on the fire. More light. More. Always more. More. More! Because if he stopped, it would get in. And if it got in… He could hear it. He could feel it, great hooked talons clawing at the barrier, clawing at his brain, trying to get in! He could feel each individual talon, each as large as an oversized meat hook, impact against his skull, then slowly, inexorably drag down simultaneously against his barrier. It was agony in body and mind all at once as it created physical pain even though he knew it held no physical form. Even his ears were assaulted as his skull shrieked like it was a blackboard with bad chalk being forcefully dragged across its surface. But it would be worse if it got in. Far, far worse.

Raven dared not look at it, keeping his fatigued eyes on the work in progress before him. It made no sound, nor motion to cross over into his field of vision, but he could feel it. The claws again!

"You're afraid?"

"Intensely, yes."

"Is somepony trying to harm you?"

"No. No, ponies do not frighten me. I carry sharp objects in my saddlebag and hidden around the house for those occasions."

"You're armed now?"

"Technically, no. But a steel-tipped fountain pen can, indeed, be mightier than the sword, if one is not expecting it."

"So what is it you are afraid of?"

Something! Anything! Write anything! Don't go blank! Write, damn it! Write! Yes! Yes, there. Good. That's good. Keep going. Yes, I'm aware this is odd writing to yourself as though you are having a conversation. And no, no I don't know how healthy it is, any more than you do. Though I suppose it's preferable to the alternative. Yes, that was my thought exactly. What I wouldn't give for some sleep. Yes, it had occurred to me that if we stopped, then we might fall asleep before it could get us. Yes, that is the concern. No. No, I don't know what day it is; I was hoping you might.

Wait… Listen… Is it…?... It's gone… It's gone! Thank Celestia… I'm going to sleep now.

"There is something trying to get me. I do not know what it is, which is weird because it has been there since I was little. I think. But it never did anything then. Or maybe it did. I don't know. Maybe it was asleep. Or maybe I'm wrong and it wasn't there at all. But now it is, and it wants me."

"What wants you?"

"I just said I don't know! I don't know… It's… It's like a darkness. It's like something… other. It wants to crawl into my head and push me out."

"And the writing helps?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it just keeps it away. Barricading the door of my mind, I guess. But it's always there. I know it is because it makes me see things. Makes me think things."

"What do you see?"

"I see me. I see me hurting other ponies. A lot. I see me killing them."… "I can see me killing you right now."

"Why would you want to kill me?"

"I don't. It probably does because it sees you as a threat. Or a small-minded, over-paid piece of putrescence that the world would not miss."

"You said it makes you think things, too?"

"Yes… And I think the thoughts are what scare me the most."

"What does it make you think?"

"It makes me think the hurting and killing feels good. It makes me think it is fun."

"But you know it isn't?"

"That's just the thing that scares me: I'm not sure anymore. Maybe I think it does feel good. Maybe I do think it is fun. Maybe it's not actually imposing on me; maybe it's just showing me. Or maybe it's been slipping in through the cracks and I just don't realize it yet."

"How long have you been in Manehatten, Raven?"

"Almost three years."

Raven soaked in his bath, staring at the white, tiled wall on the opposite end of the porcelain tub. He had been staring at the same square for… Well, he wasn't certain, but the bathwater was quite lukewarm by this point. He had been staring because he was not entirely positive that he trusted his own eyes because he did not appear to be laying in water. Rather it was blood. He knew it probably wasn't blood. He knew that whatever it was in his head was likely making it look like blood. But it had also kept a few of the gears in his head stationary for long enough that he was not certain if it was actually tricking him. What if it was no trick? What if he had actually hurt somepony? What if he had finally cracked so badly that he could not even remember? And what was worse was that he knew if he looked down at the blood, it would either really be water, or reality would coalesce and it would really be blood. He breathed in sharply, then looked down before he could stop himself.

"How did you come to live in Manehatten?"

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"You seemed to be getting anxious; I felt a diversion might help. Besides, I need to cast a wide net to start off with."

"It may be your office, but you're being paid by my bits."

"I'm just suggesting a new route; we can return to talking about 'it' if you want."

… "I suppose not. It seems to like being discussed."

"So. How did you come to live in Manehatten?"

"Buddy of mine and I felt like it would make a good home for a while, so I hopped up here from Baltimare."

"Just like that?"

"Probably even less thought than that was involved, but yes."

"Why here?"

"My friend used the term 'walkabout,' which when I thought about it, I did feel encapsulated what we had quite separately been trying to do. Our respective journeys just so happened to coincide for a time. And now they don't."

"'Walkabout.' You are referring to the aboriginal right-of-passage when a young mare or stallion wanders the outback?"

"Yeah. I did some research on it because it felt apt at the time. I found out the youth would actually follow very specific pathways that were walked by his or her great ancestors. This allowed the youth, in a way, to reenact and draw strength and experience from the steps of his or her forebears."

"And you found you related to this?"

"Yeah. At first, I just related to the name, you know, I was 'walking about' but yeah, once I did some research, I found the word more accurate than I had initially thought."

"And who are your forebears?"

"Great writers."

"Any in particular?"

"Not really. It just seemed like every couple generations, a group of writers would become legend. And somehow they would all know each other and they would all work in the same area and be friends."

"Like Baltimare and Manehatton?"

"Yeah."

"So which are you hoping for?"

… "I don't understand the question."

"Well, you said that great writers seemed to group to these ancestral cities. Are you hoping to be a great writer, or are you hoping to meet great writers?"

… "That is a very good question."… "Both, I guess."

Raven had only gotten four hours of sleep. He had been awake, as he reckoned, for over three days, and his body only gave him four hours. That was when the alcoholic in him began to get its voice back. He tapped the raw, recently scabbed strip on the bridge of his nose. Just what he needed: another voice. He had been off of the sauce for almost a year now, just drinking socially on occasion, but now… He had not fallen off the wagon, but he was certainly looking over the ledge with wild-eyed intent. He was grateful there was no booze in his apartment because he was quite certain that he would not have been able to resist the urge.

Blinking rapidly, Raven looked down at the bottle in his hand. Applejack Daniels? What the…? He looked up rapidly. When had he gone to the liquor store? He didn't know what was worse: not knowing how he had gotten there or realizing that this was most certainly not a dream. Before he knew it, he was outside, brown bag in his saddlebag and walking on autopilot back to his apartment.

By Nightmare Moon and all of her Horrors… It was gaining ground.

"Do you drink often?"

"Yeah."

"Socially?"

"Not so much anymore."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning there was a time when I drank a lot around other ponies. Then there was a time I did not drink much at all. And now, when I drink, I drink to get drunk. And because I know how I get when I'm drunk, I do it alone so I don't do or say anything."

"And that feels good?"

"It feels better than letting it get me. Because if I drink myself into oblivion, it can't move me around any more than I can. The images get distorted, its attempts to grab me slip, and usually by the time I regain consciousness, it has gone back to wherever it goes."

"Would you consider yourself an alcoholic?"

"Right now? Yeah, yeah I would."

The world was bending and blurred around him, but he could still feel it. The claws were dulled but they were still there, cutting into his mind. And he had run out, or lost the bottle and now he was too far gone to search for it, but he couldn't pass out. Another round of scraping and Raven felt tears leaking from his eyes. It couldn't get control through the alcohol so it just tore into his mind, the claws painfully silent as they cut so deep he could feel his gut twisting as his mind began to hemorrhage. It could not push him out and use him to hurt other ponies, so it hurt him as deeply and intimately as it would have hurt them. But it would never kill him, because if he died, it died. So it hurt him. And he knew, deep down, he wanted it to end. He wanted to die.

"Have you ever considered suicide?"

… "Anypony living in agony does."

"Well, I don't know about that-"

"And I do. You don't because you were blessed with brain-numbing mediocrity. You don't know because your mind is not capable of real thought. You don't know because ignorance is bliss. And, sir, you are drowning in bliss."

… "Frankly, Raven, you came to me."

"Yeah, well… 'Normal' looks pretty good when you're burning in the hellfire of the extraordinary."

Raven watched the sun begin to set over the skyscrapers of Manehatten. He could feel its presence growing as the night began to swallow the city. He checked his writing desk to ensure his inkwell was full, with ink refills close at hoof, then out of habit adjusted the stack of papers nearby. He pulled the cork off of a new bottle of Applejack Daniels and took a long drink, then watched as the last sliver of sun was obscured by the horizon. He took a deep breath, like a soldier staring down overwhelming opposition. Then, deliberately, he put his pen to a clean sheet of paper.

_C'est la vie_.


	5. And Then There Were None

Raven Writingdesk was not having the best of days. The stress of going to college at Canterlot University was not really the problem. The lack of female companionship in recent months was, admittedly, probably a contributing factor but not a cornerstone. Rather, it was the fact that he had grown up in Ponyville where even if one did not know every pony by name, an individual could at least recognize faces and cutie marks. And because of the relatively small community, everypony knew which ponies straight shooters, which were friendly, which were crazy, and which were just full of manure. But in Canterlot…

Raven was certain that Canterlot had the exact same proportion of friendly, crazy, and moronic ponies as Ponyville did. The problem was the population was approximately twenty times greater. This meant that for every ten complete idiots that one had to avoid in Ponyville, there were approximately two hundred to avoid in Canterlot. And at this precise moment, it felt as though every single one had packed into his 201 Anatomy and Physiology class.

When the entire class was quiet and they let the professor go about her work of teaching, things were fine. Raven could listen to the lecture in the back of his mind while he worked on his latest personal writing project, which had swords, lost love, revenge, blood, and no redemption. All in all, he was quite pleased with his progress. However, today he could not concentrate.

"… and that is why zebras have stripes."

There was a collective chorus of "ahhh!", as though three quarters of the class had never considered that perhaps because zebras hailed from the hottest place on the planet, it would likely behoove them to have hair that would simultaneously disperse heat and protect from damaging sunlight. All white and a pony would suffer vicious sunburns resulting in skin cancer; all black hair would cause overheating followed by eventual death in times of draught. But together, a perfect balance of protection from both. By Celestia, did nopony ever actually use their minds to work out simple problems like this? Did they really have to be spoon-fed everything?

Yes, today, every single one of the idiots in the classroom kept opening their mouths, one after another, asking questions so simple that Raven actually felt physical pain in his head. It was not merely a headache, and was beginning to spiral into a migraine. A migraine that felt as though it was about to boil the fluid in his eyeballs and send hydrochloric acid rushing through every major vein and artery in his cerebellum. Worse, it was so intense that he could not even channel the rage into writing. Finally, it became clear he would find no relief. Even though more than an hour remained in the class, he packed his saddle bag and strode out of the cavernous lecture hall, his hoof falls on the tiled floor fighting the professor's voice for control of auditory priority. Uncaring, he did not attempt to tread more quietly, eventually exited the hall, then did his level best to not scream in agonizing rage as he tried to force his way free from impermeable cloud of imbecility that he seemed to be cloaked within.

Raven walked out of the building, flinching as he passed a quartet of idiots bleating excitedly about Philosophy 101. It's 101 Philosophy, you dry-brained simpletons! It will be completely thrown out in 121 and 201! His walk accelerated to a hard trot as he crossed the campus, and he did his best not to scowl at a group of youthful fraternity stallions and sorority mares engulfed in a massive game of ultimate Frisbee. By the Moon's Light, is your self-confidence truly so low that you must shout "Look at how much fun I'm having!" through the context of your actions? Do you have to force every passing pony to watch you flaunt your excellence at a sport? Oh, wait, you don't excel, otherwise you would be here on scholarship!

Sweet Celestia it was in his head! He did not hate these ponies, he did not even know these ponies! What in Equestria was wrong?! Raven trotted in as mild-mannered a fashion as he could manage, but his breaths began hissing in and out from between his teeth as though he were attempting to climb a mountain and his mind began to burn as images of blood and carnage were seared into his mind. A lecture hall full of ponies with their skulls emptied like pumpkins at Nightmare Night. An entire philosophy class executed, with "ceci nést pas une massacre" painted in blood on the wall. And a red field of bodies, skinned to show their toned physiques.

Finally, when Raven was off campus and into Canterlot proper, the rage ceased to build, though it took nearly two more blocks before he realized that his teeth were still so firmly clinched that his jaw was actually in pain. He took a deep, shaking breath, trying to calm himself down, as though he had just suffered a waking nightmare. He supposed he had, and took another breath.

"It's alright," he whispered to himself under his breath. "It's alright. You are not there any more." Another deep breath; he felt his back and neck begin to relax. "You aren't there."

Raven decided on staying away from the campus for a few hours. True enough, he would have to return there eventually, but for now… For now he could pretend to have another life. One with fewer idiots. Or at least fewer that he had to deal with.

"By all of the black nights of Nightmare Moon," he breathed, his right mind returned, "how often is this going to keep happening?"

Raven looked across the avenue at passing ponies. His eye caught a pretty young thing, perhaps his own age, smiling broadly as she talked with her gaggle of friends. Why couldn't he be like those happy individuals? They lived in the same world he did. Breathed the same air, drank the same water. Certainly, with his mother's passing all those years ago, he had grown up with a little more heartache than most, but that did not explain, or excuse, these bloody fantasies that continued to surface in his mind. These waking rage nightmares had to be chemical, and if they were chemical, all he had to do was find the right trigger, the right button in his mind and he would be in control.

Raven stole one more glance at the departing ponies then, deciding he would have to face like sooner rather than later, turned around and headed back toward campus, and his dorm room. There was homework to do, after all, and he was not about to let these angst-y outbursts run his life. So resolved, he climbed the stairs of his dorm with new purpose, paused only long enough to grab his mail before ascending. Yes. Today was a hard day, but tomorrow would be better.

Upon reaching his room, Raven shrugged his saddlebag onto his bunk and began to hoof through the mail. Bill. Bill. Advertisement. School notice. Ponyville. Ponyville? Raven frowned at the neatly penned address. His father was the only one in Ponyville who would write him and he certainly did not have this quality of penmanship. And that was even more certainly not his address. Perplexed, he opened the letter.

"Mr. Raven Writingdesk,

"I am sorry to bear ill news in such an impersonal manner, but it is my sad duty to inform you that two nights hence, your father was admitted to Ponyville General with stroke-like symptoms. The doctors did what they could and your father fought bravely, but in the end, he succumbed…"

Raven was burning the letter. Or rather his hooves were. He could see his own reflection in the window before himself as he held his Anatomy and Physiology book over the burning letter, then dropped it on his desk when it too became engulfed. Other textbooks followed, but somehow he never broke his own gaze. Finally, he turned away from himself, mildly aware of the inferno that now began to eat away at his room. He left them. He walked calmly down the halls, then down the staircase, then out of the building as smoke and fire belched from five different windows.

He would not return.


End file.
